Read Online WASHINGTON DC: The Sadir Affair (The Puppets of Washington Book 1) by Lavina Giamusso - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lavina Giamusso
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minute,” Mr. Muscle said, a shrug and a smirk accompanying the words.
Already walking in step with the two men, Khalid stopped abruptly and waited for his escorting officers to do the same. When they did, and turned to face him, Khalid deposited both his bags to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, gentlemen, I realize I am only a guest in your country, but since I seemed to have been singled out from among 300 or so visitors, before we go any further, I’d like to know what this is all about.”
The officers looked at one another before answering.
“Just come with us, sir, we can’t have this conversation right here,” Mousy urged, ready to resume his walking.
Khalid’s obdurate stance stopped him. “Oh yes we can, and we will, unless you want me to make a fuss in the middle of this hall.”
The taller officer took a step toward Khalid, manifestly ready to take him by the one arm. “Come, come now, sir, we don’t want to attract attention, now do we?” Khalid’s glare had him change his mind instantly.
“No we don’t,” Khalid heard someone say from over his shoulder. He spun on his heels to find Sylvan standing at his back. “We’ll be going with you—no question—won’t we, Professor?” He smiled invitingly as he flung his bag over his shoulder.
“Oh…, yes…, of course… Lead the way, by all means,” Khalid said, ostensibly appeased. In reality, he was seething. He picked up his laptop and overnight bag from the floor.
The four men walked down a series of corridors and finally filed into a room that looked to be part of the customs’ offices. A lone table and four chairs were the only pieces of furniture in this rectangular room. They sat down. Khalid and Mark put their bags beside their respective chairs while the two officers took off their chequered-band caps in one movement and deposited them between their forearms, which they extended atop the Formica. The four men looked at one another as if assessing the debating camps on opposite sides of the table.
The short fellow broke the silence. “I’m Constable Strickland, Professor.” Khalid clenched jaw remained closed. His piercing eyes did not leave the man’s face. “And this is my partner, Constable Damien.”
Damien’s mocking eyes focused on Mark. “And you must be Sylvan Esteban, or should I call you Agent Gilford?” He paused. “I prefer you with blond hair,” he snickered, his own head adorned of curly, flaming-red hair.
Strickland turned his head and looked at Damien disapprovingly. Familiarities or scorn toward foreigners, were not in his book of rules of behaviour. He returned his attention to the two people across from him. “We know this intervention must seem strange and certainly unexpected to you both, gentlemen, but we have been ordered to advise you of the change of plans.”
Khalid’s anger was not abating. “What plans?” He didn’t like interference of any sort.
“ Prince Khalid, please…” Visibly taken aback, Khalid stared at his interlocutor. He hadn’t expected being called by his official title, although he knew their fake identities had been uncovered as soon as he heard Damien identify Mark. “…don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. We’re simply following orders, you understand.”
“And what orders are those?” Khalid barked at his adversary.
“For you to go back to Paris on the next available flight to France, Your Highness.”
At these words, His Highness got to his feet with such an abrupt and violent jerk that the chair fell behind him. “You can’t do that! I’ve got a passport that has a three-month’s visa…”
Mark leaned down, straightened up the chair and pulled down on Khalid’s sleeve. “Sit down…,” he told him as firmly as the circumstances allowed, “…please, Your Highness.” Khalid did.
Strickland, evidently armed of great patience, totally ignored Khalid’s outburst and resumed his explanation. “And you,
Already walking in step with the two men, Khalid stopped abruptly and waited for his escorting officers to do the same. When they did, and turned to face him, Khalid deposited both his bags to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, gentlemen, I realize I am only a guest in your country, but since I seemed to have been singled out from among 300 or so visitors, before we go any further, I’d like to know what this is all about.”
The officers looked at one another before answering.
“Just come with us, sir, we can’t have this conversation right here,” Mousy urged, ready to resume his walking.
Khalid’s obdurate stance stopped him. “Oh yes we can, and we will, unless you want me to make a fuss in the middle of this hall.”
The taller officer took a step toward Khalid, manifestly ready to take him by the one arm. “Come, come now, sir, we don’t want to attract attention, now do we?” Khalid’s glare had him change his mind instantly.
“No we don’t,” Khalid heard someone say from over his shoulder. He spun on his heels to find Sylvan standing at his back. “We’ll be going with you—no question—won’t we, Professor?” He smiled invitingly as he flung his bag over his shoulder.
“Oh…, yes…, of course… Lead the way, by all means,” Khalid said, ostensibly appeased. In reality, he was seething. He picked up his laptop and overnight bag from the floor.
The four men walked down a series of corridors and finally filed into a room that looked to be part of the customs’ offices. A lone table and four chairs were the only pieces of furniture in this rectangular room. They sat down. Khalid and Mark put their bags beside their respective chairs while the two officers took off their chequered-band caps in one movement and deposited them between their forearms, which they extended atop the Formica. The four men looked at one another as if assessing the debating camps on opposite sides of the table.
The short fellow broke the silence. “I’m Constable Strickland, Professor.” Khalid clenched jaw remained closed. His piercing eyes did not leave the man’s face. “And this is my partner, Constable Damien.”
Damien’s mocking eyes focused on Mark. “And you must be Sylvan Esteban, or should I call you Agent Gilford?” He paused. “I prefer you with blond hair,” he snickered, his own head adorned of curly, flaming-red hair.
Strickland turned his head and looked at Damien disapprovingly. Familiarities or scorn toward foreigners, were not in his book of rules of behaviour. He returned his attention to the two people across from him. “We know this intervention must seem strange and certainly unexpected to you both, gentlemen, but we have been ordered to advise you of the change of plans.”
Khalid’s anger was not abating. “What plans?” He didn’t like interference of any sort.
“ Prince Khalid, please…” Visibly taken aback, Khalid stared at his interlocutor. He hadn’t expected being called by his official title, although he knew their fake identities had been uncovered as soon as he heard Damien identify Mark. “…don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. We’re simply following orders, you understand.”
“And what orders are those?” Khalid barked at his adversary.
“For you to go back to Paris on the next available flight to France, Your Highness.”
At these words, His Highness got to his feet with such an abrupt and violent jerk that the chair fell behind him. “You can’t do that! I’ve got a passport that has a three-month’s visa…”
Mark leaned down, straightened up the chair and pulled down on Khalid’s sleeve. “Sit down…,” he told him as firmly as the circumstances allowed, “…please, Your Highness.” Khalid did.
Strickland, evidently armed of great patience, totally ignored Khalid’s outburst and resumed his explanation. “And you,
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